“No—that is, I don’t think so; certainly not the first—the second, I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I mean that, in short, I am sending in my papers. I like this climate —I, in short, am going to take to farming.”
“Sending in your papers! Going to take to farming! And in this God-forsaken hole, too. You must be screwed.”
“No, indeed. It is only ten o’clock.”
“And how about getting married, and the girl you are engaged to, and whom you are looking forward so much to seeing. Is she going to take to farming?”
Bottles winced visibly.
“No, you see—in short, we have put an end to that. I am not engaged now.”
“Oh, indeed,” said the friend, and awkwardly departed.